


He Walks in Dreams

by DesertVixen



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s02e10 Mirror Mirror, Gen, Mind Meld, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/pseuds/DesertVixen
Summary: McCoy deals with fallout from the Halkan mission in "Mirror, Mirror" with a little help...





	He Walks in Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersforgraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/gifts).



Dimly, he heard someone screaming.

It wasn’t until he had fought off the last shreds of the nightmare, found himself in a tangle of sweaty sheets with his heart pounding, that Leonard McCoy realized it had been him.

Again.

The dreams left him with a sick stomach and pounding headache, and usually meant the end of his sleep for the night. He’d tried self-medicating with the alcohol he was not strictly supposed to have, but that had only made it worse. The alcohol had kept him stuck in the dream, had left him trapped in his own mind while it forced him to watch as Scotty was tortured by that other Sulu with the fierce scar and twisted soul, with all of their Sulu’s ability and none of his compassion. It was a hellish glimpse of what might have been if they had failed to get themselves off that other Enterprise.

That go-round with the dream had left McCoy almost unable to walk into his own sickbay. On that other ship, it had been transformed from a place of healing and safety into a sadist’s playground, where people might eventually be patched up. He had seen just enough to fuel his nightmares, and not enough to know if he was the chief sadist or tolerated because he kept that Captain Kirk in one place. 

McCoy wasn’t a spiritual man, but he prayed they would never have to explore it further.

Even worse, he had dozed off in the middle of updating reports and fallen into another dream. In this one, Christine Chapel had been wielding an old-fashioned scalpel in creative and non-medical ways on his body. In the abbreviated uniform the women in that crew wore, she was a fearsome sight – his blood smeared on her skin, her laughing as she mocked his screams and cut again…

His own Chapel’s attempt to wake him by touching his shoulder had only made it worse. He had struck out at her under the influence of the dream, still seeing the other Chapel in her place. She had accepted his apology, his vague explanation of having a nightmare, but he had noticed that she was watching him carefully. McCoy had made damn sure not to fall asleep in his office again.

He had tried to find out if any of the others in their landing party had been having issues with nightmares, without betraying the extent of his nightly torture sessions. McCoy thought that perhaps Jim Kirk was beginning to notice, beginning to watch him, but somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to tell his friend what was going on. Of course, he had also thought that they would eventually stop, but so far that had not happened.

Experience had taught him that trying to go back to sleep was not a good idea. As if the first one had made him more vulnerable, the two times he had tried it, McCoy had found himself pulled into a worse nightmare.

Instead, he chose to walk the ship, to find a neutral area where he could pass the time until his normal duty shift began. Sometimes he could recharge with a nap later in the day, but McCoy knew he was getting to a point where he would not be able to hide what was going on.

He had no idea what he was going to do. Sometimes when he couldn’t sleep, he researched ways to combat the nightmares, but without any real success – after his experience with alcohol, he was a little wary of trying drugs to make him sleep.

*** 

He had hoped the observation lounge would be empty – the sight of the stars was soothing, hypnotic. But the sound of music told McCoy he was not alone. Spock sat in one of the chairs, playing a soothing melody on his Vulcan lyre.

“Doctor,” Spock said after a moment, “I presume you are experiencing difficulty sleeping.”

“It’s none of your damned Vulcan business how I’m sleeping,” McCoy burst out.

Spock merely raised an eyebrow. 

Their relationship largely consisted of trading barbs with each other, of sniping at each other and scoring hits. Sometimes McCoy wondered how Jim even put up with the two of them together. But that raised eyebrow made him feel that he had gone too far – more than that, Spock was one member of this crew that would definitely notice changes in McCoy’s behavior. He would notice, and he would feel compelled to report it.

“Two weeks of trouble sleeping,” McCoy said after a long moment. “And don’t say it’s fascinating.”

“I will refrain from using that word. However, I will note that the duration of your sleeping difficulty coincides with the end of the Halkan mission.”

McCoy let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

“Perhaps if you told me about it,” Spock said after a pause, “we could tackle the problem together.”

Once he had started, McCoy felt as if he could hardly stop. It was a relief to get it out, he had to admit, to tell someone about the experience. The shock, keeping up the façade so they could figure out how to get home, his discoveries in sickbay, his fear about what that other McCoy had been like, and finally saving that universe’s Spock.

“Even knowing what they were like, I couldn’t just let him die.” Despite the beard, the different uniform, McCoy had seen an echo of the Spock he knew and trusted in that other universe – perhaps the only one of the people on board worth bothering to save. 

“You were doing your duty,” Spock agreed mildly. 

McCoy nodded. “And he repaid me by using one of those damn Vulcan mind tricks on me, to find out what the plan was.” Even thinking about it made his head hurt, thinking of his brain laid open for that other Spock to pick through at leisure.

Spock raised an eyebrow again. “Curious. It is entirely possible, Doctor McCoy, that a forcible mind meld may be at the root of your sleeping issue.”

“Great,” McCoy said. “Just great.” He refrained from a rude remark about Vulcans causing all his troubles.

“It is possible that I might be able to assist you, Doctor, if you are willing to let me mind meld with you.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, but then McCoy shrugged. “Why not? I’ve tried everything else I know.”

Yet, as they sat across from each other and Spock placed his hand on McCoy’s face, he felt himself starting to panic. On the other Enterprise, it had been as brutal as a physical blow to the head, more intrusive and violating than anything McCoy could have imagined – not only was he giving the information up, no matter how he tried to fight it, but he was powerless to stop himself.

“You must relax, Doctor,” Spock said firmly. 

McCoy took a deep breath, then nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

This time, when Spock slipped into his mind, when their minds joined together, it was gentle. Instead of forcing him to give up the information, Spock was willing to touch only what McCoy allowed. Together, they took each memory as it came.

When Spock withdrew from the meld this time, it was also gentle. McCoy remembered how that other Spock had practically dragged him to the transporter room, afterwards.

“I believe you will find undisturbed sleep much easier to achieve now,” Spock said after a moment, leaning his head back as if he were exhausted. “Dreams induced by the forcible mind meld should not trouble you further.”

McCoy felt rather pleasantly tired himself, as if he could sleep for an entire day. “I suppose I should thank you,” he said gruffly.

“It would be the logical thing to do,” Spock replied. “Therefore I would not expect it from you.”

“Let me surprise you then. Thank you,” McCoy said, then hurried out before Spock could get the last word in.

When the door had closed behind the doctor, Spock raised an eyebrow. He wondered if he would ever understand McCoy. 

Luckily, understanding was not a requirement for friendship.

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope you like this - and that it meets your detail in your letters for healthy relationships dealing with nightmares.


End file.
